


Blue Solavellan (Old Crestwood)

by Calwyn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Feels, Gentle Kissing, Kissing, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 01:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calwyn/pseuds/Calwyn
Summary: A moment of uncertainty overlooking only Crestwood. Solas comes to help. A stolen kiss.





	Blue Solavellan (Old Crestwood)

She stares out across the lake, alone, ignoring the growing chill in the air.

Blue. The water stirrs in the northern wind, lapping across the broken beams, the bones, the broken skeleton of what was once a town; no more rift, no more undead and suddenly the air is clear and still. Bright, glaring, the sunlight glances from the waves in a blade that burns the windowsills of the Old Crestwood homes, painting them with fire.

Blue. Wide and still, the lake drifts with a surface of crumpled glass.

Somehow it seems wrong. The storm and the chaos suddenly gone and the air… empty; like something is missing. A hollowness churns in your gut, a feeling that you could never hope to explain to the others.

“You don’t even know, do you?” Dorian had mocked her when they first met, “You just wiggle your fingers and BOOM, rift closes!”

At the time she had been frustrated, lost, tired of people acting like she should know things; now…

Now it was the same, but they asked her to make the decisions, even Dorian; as if it would all go away by believing in something, in her, the Inquisitor.

She hated the title, even now, even after seeing what it could do. It made her a blade that sliced at the world, a blind weapon, a tool of faith.

“Lethallan.”

His voice was warm with a kindness that thawed some of the chill at her core, and she was glad to turn and see Solas approaching, despite the strange and unsaid words that still hung between them.

“We closed the rift,” even to herself, the words sounded hollow, “the mayor confessed to flooding the lake, to stop the blight. Did you find what you needed out at the old farmstead?”

“Some supplied indeed remained untouched, as our friend suggested.” He regarded her a moment, the weight of his gaze probing, hesitant. “You are troubled.”

She enjoys the way he simply states things in his calm way, not leaping with sympathy or platitudes. It is different, easier… and yet still undeaniably kind.

Her vision blurs, and tears are rolling down her cheeks without warning. Was she sad? She didn’t know. The tears sparkle and swim, rolling with the sapphire waves and leaving you lost in a saprkling and prismatic ocean.

Blue. Why does that make her cry. Why does she feel like something was… lost.

Careful, delicate fingers gather the tears from her eyes, cup her cheek. Careful, slow, warm lips press to hers in a single deliberate meeting, a delicate exchange of warmth. It was not a promise, but it existed between them for a heartbeat, an anchor, a yearning.

Because she was greedy and tired, she stole his mouth and pulled him close, revelling as his arms closed around her. He came to help, and she was wicked, feasting on the warmth of his lips, wondering if he would thrust her away. It was ridiculous, stupid, dangerous… cruel.

He cupped her face and drew away, face flushed, eyes too gentle.

“ _Lethallan_ ,” his face is so kind, it breaks your heart. His eyes search yours with a strange intensity that leaves your chest aching. “You are not what I expected. What has hurt you?”


End file.
